Miscellany
by Oneirogenic
Summary: A collection of short fics that resulted from a list of randomized pairings. Contains fics for Ike/Damien, Kyle/TallGoth and Mark/Porsche so far. Het and Slash. Will be updated frequently with new fics!
1. Chapter 1

**Author's notes**: As a challenge, I put the names of all of the named students in South Park into a randomizer to generate some random pairings to write for. All of these pairings are completely randomized and are completely cracky. Regardless, I hope I did a good job at writing pairings that legit make no sense whatsoever. Instead of cluttering up my account with a bunch of drabbles for crack pairings, I will be putting them into this neatly organized collection. Oh, and if anybody wants to do this, I highly suggest it. It's way more fun than it has any right to be.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**Title:** Belmont  
><strong>Pairing(s), Character(s):<strong> Slight Mark Cotswold/Porsche  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Very, very, very slight sexual themes.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mark finds Porsche crying in the library and offers her some help.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 870

**Chapter Two**

**Title:** The Boy With the Thorn in his Side  
><strong>Pairing(s), Character(s):<strong> Slight Tall Goth/Kyle  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Strong language.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> After finding Evan in his synagogue, Kyle wonders if he should leave his island.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,162

**Chapter Three**

**Title:** Secluded Spaces  
><strong>Pairing(s), Character(s):<strong> Slight Ike/Damien  
><strong>Rating:<strong> G  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Age difference.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Damien doesn't understand why Ike finds him so fascinating. He doesn't like it.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,042


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Belmont  
><strong>Pairing(s), Character(s):<strong> Slight Mark Cotswold/Porsche  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Very, very, very slight sexual themes.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Mark finds Porsche crying in the library and offers her some help.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 870

**Author's Note: **This was actually really fun to write. It took a bit of finagling with my headcanon for Mark, but now I kind of want to write more with these two. Preeeetty sure nobody would want to read that, though. Anyway, I love Porsche and here is a fic with her in it.

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><p>Mark strolled idly down the aisle of the Psychology section of the Park County Community College library, fingers stroking the worn and threadbare volumes that sat rotting away on the library shelves. They were mostly useless to him, due to their age, but sometimes he liked to look for a cover he didn't recognize nestled between the horribly outdated relics that populated the shelves. It had been months since new books had come in. He had asked. He always liked to look, though, just to be sure.<p>

"Dammit, _dammit._"

Halting, Mark turned around to see a short girl in an incredibly loud aquamarine sweater staring helplessly at the shelves in front of her. As she kneeled down in what looked like a fit of near-panic, she let out a soft whine, pulling out the largest book she could find. Mark watched as she flipped through the table of contents, then shoved it back onto the shelf before pulling out another one.

Mark couldn't help but feel bad at her struggle—especially considering the fact that the poor selection was probably going to do her no favors.

"Excuse me," he asked politely, voice low.

Her head shot up. Mark noticed her thick black eyeliner was smudged and looked slightly damp.

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry." She looked up at him, eyes wide. "I forgot you're not really supposed to talk in the library."

Mark frowned, getting the sneaking suspicion that she didn't find often find herself in libraries.

"No, it's alright," he replied, taking a few steps toward her. "I apologize if I'm being forward, but do you need a hand with anything?"

She continued to look up at him as she seemed to think about it. "I don't want you to go out of your way..."

"Oh," he said, waving a hand dismissively as he closed the gap between them and kneeled down next to her. "I'm just here for fun. What are you trying to find?"

Conflicted, she took a deep breath. "I have to do a presentation in my Developmental Psych class on, like, families but I _totally_ missed the day in my English Class last year where we went to the library and learned how to use the online library thing so now I'm trying to find _something_ in one of these books, _but_ I've been in here _three days in a row_ now and I still haven't found _anything_ useful."

Her lip quivered. Despite the fact that Mark by and large preferred other men, he could see that she was actually very pretty. Her eyes were quite large, and there was something almost androgynously childlike about her face. The pervasive look of helplessness in her appearance made Mark feel strangely obligated to help her.

"Do you have anything at all yet?" he asked.

"Only...only one book and...and..." The tears that had begun to pool in her large eyes started to stream heavily down her face.

"Do you have it with you?"

"No..." Her face screwed up, as though she were trying to ineffectively stem her quickly loudening sobs.

Fighting the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and coo at her in hushed tones, he gently pried the book from her hands and slipped it back onto the shelf, making sure the numbers were in the proper order.

"Here," he said, pulling his messenger bag off of his shoulder. "I have my laptop with me. If you'd like, I can help you find a couple of articles that might be useful."

Before he realized what was happening, he felt himself nearly bowled over as she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly and perhaps for a little too long. He couldn't help but be keenly aware of the softness of her body and the gentle crush of her round breasts against him. He exhaled sharply before he could stop himself, and she pulled away.

"You're the best," she said, running a hand unabashedly though her messy hair. "Thank you sooo much."

As a bright, open smile lit up her face, Mark couldn't help but find her hopelessly pretty.

"Say, would you rather go to the cafeteria?" he suggested, helping her up. "We would be able to talk a little louder and I could really go for a cup of coffee."

Nodding, she wiped her eyes, smudging her makeup even further. "That would be nice."

"My name is Mark, by the way."

"I'm Porsche."

Mark smiled, feeling slightly giddy.

"And she is fair," he began, recalling the lines with ease, "and, fairer than that word. Of wondrous virtues: sometimes from her eyes I did receive fair speechless messages."

He doubted she had ever even heard of _The Merchant of Venice_, but the urge to impress her overwhelmed him before he could stop himself.

"Oh," she said, smiling thoughtfully. "That's very nice of you..."

Mark went to explain, but she interrupted him with a loud giggle.

"But my name's spelled like the car. I wish my parents used hers, though. It's sooo much prettier."

Slightly awestruck, Mark went to speak, but found himself entirely unable to. Blinking in disbelief, he let himself be tugged gently down the aisle, unsure of what he had just gotten himself into.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** The Boy With the Thorn in his Side  
><strong>Pairing(s), Character(s):<strong> Slight Tall Goth/Kyle  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Strong language. Evan isn't very sensitive to the idea of religion.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> After finding Evan in his synagogue, Kyle wonders if he should leave his island.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,162

**Author's Note: **It's probably glaringly obvious that the extent of my knowledge regarding synagogues comes from television. If there's anything very, very wrong with how I'm describing it, please don't hesitate to let me know! Also, I used the fanon name of Tall Goth, since I figured it'd cause the least amount of confusion.

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><p>Kyle hummed quietly to himself as he pushed open the Synagogue door with one hand, a sort of reflexive peace washing over him when the familiar scent of the place reached his nose. He breathed deep once, before making his way to the front to speak with the Rabbi. His mother had sent him to deliver a plate of lemon squares, but he didn't mind. He was currently in the middle of a week-long grounding, and he was starting to get stir-crazy from the five days of near solitary confinement he had served thus far. As he made his way down the middle aisle, he considered stopping by Stan's house, but he didn't put it past his mother to count the miles on his car.<p>

He sighed, pondering the unfairness of the situation, when he noticed a curly, black head of hair bent down in looked to be incredible anguish. The recognition hit him instantly, but it took him a moment to register who it was, due to how incredibly unlikely it seemed that Kyle would find him in his Synagogue.

"Evan?"

The boy looked up with an expression of utter surprise that Kyle was pretty sure he had never seen on his face in the entire expanse of time he had known him. Even more surprising (and unsettling) was the mess of smeared eyeliner that surrounded his red, swollen eyes. As miserable as Evan's group of friends claimed they were, Kyle had never seen any of them cry, let alone in as ugly and pathetic a way as Evan had just been doing.

"Fuck off, ginge." Evan shot Kyle a glare and snuffled wetly, attempting to collect himself.

Kyle almost returned the insult, but found himself faced with a dilemma. On one hand, he could leave this asshole to his own misery and go about his business, but on the other, he was almost desperately lonely after not speaking to anyone except for his parents and little brother for days. Maybe it was the burden of isolation, or Evan's look of helpless vulnerability, or maybe even the fact that he was in a holy place, but he was feeling uncommon generosity.

"I didn't know you were Jewish," Kyle said, shifting slightly.

Evan furrowed his brow, pushing the black quiff of hair out of his eyes. "Yeah, kind of."

Kyle picked idly at the foil on the lemon squares. He knew he was going to regret opening his mouth. "How can you be kind of Jewish? You either are or you aren't."

Heaving a sigh, Evan brought his hands up to his eyes to wipe them. "My mom's Jewish, my stepdad's Catholic."

Kyle found himself feeling a sudden and overwhelming sympathy for the boy. Evan must have noticed, because he was smirking smugly.

"The omnipresent miasma of guilt in my house is enough to choke even the most unshakable," Evan mumbled grimly.

Laughing, Kyle slid into the row in front of him, setting the lemon squares on the seat next to him. "Tell me about it. Both of my parents are Jewish, but my best friend is Catholic. I can't imagine having to juggle all of that at once."

Evan snorted, in a way that could have been either derisive or congenial. Kyle was enjoying talking to another human being far too much to care.

"So then why haven't I seen you around before?" Kyle asked, resting his elbows on the wooden back of the bench. "You've lived here at least as long as I have."

Self-consciously, Evan wiped his eyes again. "Yeah, okay. My mom picked up the whole Catholic shit because of my asshole stepdad, so we don't really come here too often. It's all bullshit anyway, so whatever."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that's a good enough reason as any," Kyle said, squirming at the stream of harsh language, as though the walls of the Synagogue would come tumbling down on top of them in punishment. "I dunno, I come here too when I'm upset sometimes."

Evan hunched defensively. "Upset? Like you have anything to be miserable about. More like inconvenienced, or-"

"Oh come on, stop it. I'm just trying to help, since it looks like you already drove off the Rabbi when he tried. Stop fronting so damn hard and at least pretend to appreciate it," Kyle snapped, though he was only mildly annoyed. Before the words had died on his lips, Evan was already retreating back into himself. Kyle had at least expected (and almost hoped for) another "fuck off," but now Evan looked like he was going to cry again.

Staring off to his side, Evan stiffened, tears threatening to creep out of the corners of his eyes.

"Goddamnit. I'm sorry," Kyle apologized, although he wasn't sure if he should. "Hey, I'm sorry. You must be pretty upset if you're here, yeah?"

Evan took a deep breath, collecting himself once more. "Yeah," he stated simply, no characteristically elaborate descriptions of pain and anguish.

"If like, you know, you want to talk about it or anything..." Kyle mumbled, lamely. "I don't have anywhere to be and honestly, I'm lonely as shit right now."

Laughing, Evan looked at Kyle as though he were almost as pathetic as he was. "However transparent your ulterior motives are, I don't think so," he said, smirking, although it was less smug than it was friendly.

"It's just stupid shit," he continued, a sort of half-feigned exasperation in his voice. "Misery, anguish, etcetera. I'm sure your fair and sunny disposition would crumble if I were to unload onto you even a tablespoon of the shit that's bothering me right now."

Kyle rested his chin on his arms. "Fair enough. Still, though, if you won't talk to me, you could maybe talk to the Rabbi or something. He's pretty okay, if you haven't talked to him already."

Evan looked down at his hands. They were covered in smudges of black, and Kyle couldn't help but notice how the long, bony appendages had a strange, if awkward elegance about them. In fact, Kyle found himself reminded of something like a giraffe, or something equally strange and, though the word sounded ridiculous in his head, majestic.

"I usually prefer my solitude when I'm being an idiot like this," Evan said, mumbling awkwardly, shaking Kyle from his thoughts. "As though I'm not a shitty conversationalist, regardless."

"It's better than what I've been dealing with at home, believe me. I've been grounded for five days and I can't even call my friends because my mom checks my phone history every six hours," he said, only realizing how incredibly selfish that must have sounded when he saw Even scowling again. "Not like I'm not enjoying talking to you. My friends are kind of..." he paused a moment to find the right word. "Slow?"

Evan looked up at him, smirking incredulously. "Now you're insulting your friends to me? You're just a wealth of charm and tact, aren't you, Broflovski?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Oh come on. I like them but they're all about video games and girls and shit jokes. After over a decade of that, sometimes I want to switch it up, you know? I kind of don't have any actual friends other than them."

Closing his eyes, Kyle buried his face in his arms, hearing Evan legitimately crack up. "God, that sounds _so_ pathetic," he mumbled.

"Yeah, it kind of does," Evan agreed. Now considerably drier and less pained looking, his face had a sort of wry, calculating sort of intelligence about it that Kyle couldn't help but find himself inexplicably drawn to. He wondered idly if he ought to leave the little island he and Stan and Kenny had built for themselves on occasion, striking out into the sea of peers in an attempt to find other leaky little boats full of people he might want to talk to.

After a long moment of not speaking, Evan looked out the window at the darkening sky, "Shit, I've been here for almost three hours now."

Kyle jumped at the words. Pulling out his cell phone, he looked at the time. The two of them had been talking for almost a half hour now. "Shiiiiiit. Ma's gonna kill me if I don't get home soon." He stood up, picking up the plate of lemon squares.

"Yeah, I should go too. I don't want my little own freedom stripped from me as well." Evan rolled his eyes and stood, brushing out his black jacket. It was half 19th century recreation and half cheap Halloween costume, despite being very vaguely flattering on his bony frame.

Kyle blinked.

"Man, I'm sorry. See you around?" he asked, unsure of whether he wanted to leave so quickly was because of his mother's threats.

"Yeah," Evan said, nodding. "See you, then."

"See ya." Kyle turned to leave, sucking in a slightly shaky breath. He made his way down the aisle, shaking his head.

"Hey, Broflovski!" Evan called out, before Kyle had made it very far.

Kyle turned around, gripping the lemon squares tightly. "Yeah?"

"Do you, uh, maybe want to go out for coffee sometime? When you're not still grounded, obviously..." Evan ran a hand through his quiff again, all nerves and awkward angles. "Your friends sound tiring," he added, in a sort of after-thought.

Feeling as though he was matching Evan's awkwardness, he nodded. "Yeah. Okay." He smiled, finding himself feeling almost excited at the prospect. "I'd like that."

A sarcastic look on his face, Evan went to open his mouth, but decided against it, smiling nervously instead. "Okay then."

"Okay."

Standing there for another couple of minutes, Even eventually turned away and hurried down the aisle.

It was only when Kyle had his hand back on his car door did he realize that neither of them had thought to set a date for their coffee. As he put the key in the ignition, he wondered if perhaps it was safer on his island.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Secluded Spaces  
><strong>Pairing(s), Character(s):<strong> Very, very slight Ike/Damien. If you squint.  
><strong>Rating:<strong> G  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Age difference.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Damien doesn't understand why Ike finds him so fascinating. He doesn't like it.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 1,042

**Author's Notes: **I neeeed to write more Ike. He's a cool dude. I can see him being fascinated by someone as different as Damien, which is where the idea of this fic started. This could be preslash, but if can easily be friendship fic if you prefer that instead.

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><p>Damien jerked violently as he felt the soft pads of two fingers brush slowly over the tips of his ears. The west lounge of Park County Community College was nearly empty, but for a few tired-looking students dozing in armchairs. It was around six—a half-hour until night classes started—and Damien was busying himself with the more gruesome pictures in his human biology book. It comforted. Like many things, he didn't bother to question it.<p>

"Did you know your ears have the _very slightest_ point to them," a male voice said from behind him. The words were articulated slowly, the syllables enunciated clearly.

_Intelligent, obviously_, Damien thought, _though incredibly foolish_.

He turned around to face whoever had just thought it a good idea to touch his—he admitted—slightly pointed ears.

"Oh, I'm not trying to be rude. They're really very nice."

Damien tried to place the boy, but was unable to. The boy had a shaggy mess of black hair and wore a pleasant smile on his almost-too-wide mouth as he fidgeted with the hem of his sweater-vest.

"Who are you?" Damien asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Oh, me?" The boy held out his hand, but then pulled it back when he realized that Damien wasn't going to shake it. "My name's Ike. I'm still in high school, but I go to some night classes here. It's really great here, isn't it?"

Damien squinted at him, unsure of how to respond. He only went here because it was something to do and because he had grown fond of the impervious strangeness of South Park despite the fact that he no longer had many ties to this place.

"Of course, I know most people don't _like_ school, but I love it compared to the classes in high school," Ike continued, as though Damien weren't still carefully inspecting him. "It's so much more challenging and the teachers actually _talk_ with you after class like you're an adult. It's just great."

"It's alright," Damien replied, letting his head tilt in the other direction. "You're very chatty, aren't you?"

Ike laughed, as though this were a compliment. "Oh. I'm Canadian. Well, by blood, at least, because I've lived here my entire life."

"Yes, I'm su—"

"Aww, crap!" Ike spouted suddenly, causing Damien to jump. "I promised Mrs. Vasquez that I'd be in class early to set up for my presentation. I have to go. See you!"

"Goodby—"

"What's your name?" Ike interrupted again, bouncing from foot to foot.

"Damien Thorn," Damien said, eyebrows knitting together.

"Wow, your parents must have had it out for you," Ike replied with a large grin.

Damien opened and closed his mouth twice in surprise, but Ike had already run off down the hall. He watched the doorway for a long moment, half expecting Ike to burst back in, before returning to his anatomy book, the silence suddenly uncomfortable.

**.o.o.o.**

"You aren't human, are you?"

Damien jumped again, startled by the familiar chirp of Ike's voice. He scowled, wondering, as he had for the past month, if Ike would ever grow tired of him and move on to bothering some other, more vocal person. Against his better judgment, Damien turned toward him.

"Of course I am. Do you think I'm some sort of alien or something?"

Ike sat down next to him at the round lunch table and peered casually over at the novel Damien was reading. "No."

Raising an eyebrow at him, Damien's lips pressed into a thin line.

"I don't know what you are, but you're not human," Ike said slowly, inspecting Damien as though he were a medical specimen and not the Antichrist. "Will you tell me if I guess?"

"Will you still try even if I say no?" Damien sighed, watching Ike lean in close.

"Are you a vampire?"

Damien laughed. "No."

"Of course not, they're not real. Are you a member of the undead in any capacity?"

Damien considered this. "Not the last time I checked," he said hesitantly.

"Damn. Uhmm. Are you...something _else_...in human form?"

Damien considered this also, then smiled smugly. He supposed he could be, depending on the semantics.

"Oh man, seriously?" Ike gasped, eyes wide as he processed this information. "Can you change into something else? Right now? For me?"

Damien looked around the cafeteria. "No."

Ike whined, leaning forward. He smelled of blood and flesh and slightly of pencil lead and blueberry muffin. "'No' like you can't do it here, or 'no' like you aren't going to show me, ever?"

Standing up, Damien collected his things and stared down at the shorter boy. "No."

"Please?" Ike huffed, trying to keep up with him as he moved quickly through the throng of people.

"_No_," Damien repeated as he slipped between two students and then disappeared entirely.

**.o.o.o.**

"Why won't you show me?" Ike asked quietly, fidgeting with the splintering edges of the bench they both sat on. The sun crept slowly towards the horizon, the last golden beams of sunlight filtering through the large oak tree and dappling the two of them as they sat in mostly silence.

Damien sighed and shook his head. "It's nothing, and even if it weren't, I wouldn't want to show you."

"It's not nothing! You can do things that regular people can't." Ike protested, fumbling for a moment as he took Damien's hand in his. "You don't even feel human."

Jerking his hand away, Damien averted his eyes to one of the windows of the theater building. High above, bodies swayed in time to a song that, if Damien concentrated, he could hear clearly.

"I'm sorry," Ike said softly. The tinge of sadness in his voice made Damien turn toward him again. "I know I treat you like you're a science project, but you're just so..."

"Different?" Damien offered, a small, sympathetic smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah, but in a good way." Ike smiled back, a little smug. "Not everybody gets to be friends with the Antichrist."

"So we're friends, now?" Damien asked, eyes traveling back to the bodies moving slowly in the window above. He felt a hand take his again and closed his eyes, the final bars of the Tchaikovsky piece growing louder in his head.

"Yeah, we're friends."


End file.
